


Two Part Drabble Game

by ahh_fuck



Series: Two Part Drabble Game [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romantic Gestures, Scent Kink, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahh_fuck/pseuds/ahh_fuck
Summary: This is a series of shorts from a two part drabble game on Tumblr. They are not actually drabbles, they got out of hand, but hey! Who doesn't like a little more story?In the first, Geralt and Jaskier are hiding from an angry mob in a sewer, and Geralt wonders why Jaskier follows him everywhere.In the second, Geralt had been planning to take Yennefer to a beautiful natural crystal cave, but it's bucketing rain. He decides to bring the cave to her. Romance ensues.In the third, Jaskier starts wearing a new smell. It drives Geralt bonkers. Tension!This series is completed. (Unless I get any more prompts. Tumblr is wild like that sometimes.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Two Part Drabble Game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842523
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	1. Did We Really Have to Hide in a Sewer?

25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be 

24 - “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.” 

All right, here you go @elliestormfound! Thanks for the ask! This was a fun little piece to write, I hope you enjoyed it :) 

Geralt flexed his fingers, sore from hanging on the ladder after so long. Below him, a river of detritus and sewage boils around the foot of the ladder. Above him is the closed lid of one of the access points, which he’d been forced to duck into at the last minute as he was running to escape an angry crowd. It had hardly been his fault that they hadn’t wanted to pay. Once the man he’d presented his bounty to had started shouting, it hadn’t taken long for a crowd to gather. And once the first rock had been thrown, he knew it was time to make a swift exit. 

He hangs there, listening carefully to the sounds of the street above. Below him, the water rushes and gurgles, stinking its way out to the sea. Above, he can still hear the occasional angry voice raised in protest.

From below him on the ladder, feet inches above the sewage, floats a voice. “Are they gone yet, Geralt?”

“Not yet,” Geralt growls quietly down at his companion. “Be quiet.”

“All right, it’s just, we’ve been here for hours and my limbs feel like they’re going to fall off, and it stinks something horrible in here.” Jaskier complained, shifting the lute case on his back. “Did we really have to flee into the sewer?”

Geralt peers down at him in the darkness.

“Fine. Next time I’ll let you lead us away from the angry mob,” he replies drily. 

Jaskier grumbles, shifting again. “Are they gone yet, Geralt? My arms are killing me.”

“No,” Geralt grumbles. “They’re still searching the market.”

“Should we try finding another exit?”

“Do you want to wade in monster infested sewage?”

“Oh Melitele, there’s monsters in there?” Jaskier gasped, climbing up a couple of rungs suddenly. It put his head near Geralt’s calves. His dirty pants frankly didn’t smell any better than the rest of the sewer, but at least the supposed monster infesting them was a known quantity. 

“Don’t stick your ankles in the water and you’ll be fine,” Geralt points out, unimpressed. He shifts his feet so that he doesn’t accidentally step on Jaskier’s fingers. They fall into an unhappy silence, suspended between the sewage and the angry people in the market above. 

Jaskier is silent for a long moment, then he asks in a muffled voice, “Geralt? Why are people so awful?”

Geralt goes still, cocking his head to the side as he takes that in. He falls into a long silence, which grows heavier and heavier with each passing moment. When he answers, his voice is quiet. 

“They’re just scared. I’m different. It’s not their fault.”

Below him, Jaskier gapes, then puffs angrily. “That’s crap and you know it!” he hisses quietly. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met, and if they can’t see that they’re bloody blind.” His fingers tremble on the ladder, his muscles screaming as he demands they continue to hold him in this unaccustomed position. 

“Lot of blind people, then.” Geralt notes mildly, then ducks down away from the lid at the top of the ladder, gesturing for Jaskier to be quiet. Overhead there is a boiling murmur of voices, shuffling footsteps. After a while, they move off. 

“Well, that bloody jeweler better get ready for fame. Yorik the Pig-Fucker has a nice ring to it,” Jaskier seethes quietly into the yawning silence left in the wake of the people moving away. “And I’m going to write a hell of a ballad about how you took care of his troll problem, too. Geralt’s jaw tightens, and his hot golden eyes rake over Jaskier below him in the darkness.

“I talked the troll into finding new territory, Jaskier. There’s nothing epic about that.”

“Tell that to my new ballad,” Jaskier mutters grumpily, shifting his legs to try to ease their stiffness. Geralt glares down at him, but the glare slowly softens.

“Why?” he asks, examining the bard as best he can from where he’s standing.

“Why what?” 

“The songs? The...” he grimaces in distaste. “Following me?”

Jaskier looks back up at him thoughtfully. He’s asked this before, but every now and then, it comes up again, as if he can’t wrap his head around the idea that Jaskier likes him. Jaskier licks his lips, taking an uncharacteristically long moment before replying.

“People go out of their way to tell you that you’re not enough. That you’re bad, or scary, or stupid. None of that is true. I sing because I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.” 

Above him, Geralt sinks into silence, his throat closing. Jaskier’s words made him feel sore inside, uncomfortable. The human didn’t seem to understand exactly what he was, even after years of traveling with him. Even after sharing his bed. Hard to identify emotions boil inside of him, and he shifts uneasily.

Jaskier watches him from below, his own heart sinking. Geralt was the least easy person to say kind things to that he’d ever met, and it bothered him deeply. Someday, though. Someday, his Witcher would finally hear him without flinching.

At the top of the ladder, Geralt listens as the voices finally begin to disperse. He glances down at Jaskier, who is shivering miserably beneath him. His own muscles are sore from holding the same position for hours, he can only imagine what kind of pain his bard is in. Nevertheless, he waits until the sounds of the market have dispersed entirely and the scent of night wafts down from the access point before he moves again. Beneath him, Jaskier gives an exhausted whimper as Geralt shifts and climbs up a few rungs to peek out from below the cover. 

The rush of relatively fresh air is a relief to his desperately sensitive nose. It might still stink of urine and horse dung, but at least it hadn’t spent miles rolling atop a river of sewage. Gulping in the fresh air, he surveys the street. Finally, it’s empty. Quickly as his sore muscles will allow, he scrambles out of the sewer, then reaches back down to help Jaskier. The bard swallows another whimper as he begins to climb, his stiff muscles screaming. 

As soon as Jaskier is in reach, Geralt leans down and fists the back of Jaskier’s doublet, dragging both him and his lute carefully out of the sewer. He deposits them on the cobbles and helps Jaskier stagger upright. The hours of standing suspended have taken a toll on his human companion, who winces as he flexes his legs and looks around the empty street. 

“Back to Roach?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt agrees. He watches the bard stagger a few steps, sighs, and heaves him over his shoulder in one easy movement. 

“Geralt! Put me down!” Jaskier complains as Geralt begins to jog up the street, staying close to the shadows where he can. 

“Be quiet. We need to get out of here. You can barely move,” Geralt grumbles, picking up his pace. Thankfully, at this time of night the city is far less crowded, and he is able to make his way to the outskirts with relatively little interference, bard slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Jaskier bubbles and puffs with irritation, but much to Geralt’s relief, remains relatively quiet until he sets him down some time later. Jaskier staggers, but by now at least a modicum of feeling has returned to his legs, and he rights himself quickly.

He goes to the Witcher, grabbing his arm gently. Geralt turns to face him, expression unreadable in the darkness of the alleyway near the inn. Jaskier regards him seriously, then reaches up and gently tucks some of Geralt’s hair away from his face. 

“You are special to me. You know that?” He asks, fingers lingering softly on Geralt’s dirty cheek. Geralt regards him in the darkness, his golden eyes catching the little moonlight and glowing with it. His face remains stony, but Jaskier can see the little muscles in his face, especially at the corners of his eyes soften into a vulnerable look of confusion. Jaskier can see it because he’s known Geralt for so many years. Stepping closer, Jaskier cups his cheek, pressing his chest lightly against the Witcher’s armored body. He smells awful, they both do, but at least in the fresh air it’s bearable.

“And one day, you might even believe it,” Jaskier says with a soft smile, tilting his head to the side as he regards his handsome Witcher in the moonlight. Then, he leans up and presses his lips to Geralt’s, eyes sliding shut. Geralt stiffens, then hesitantly leans in to deepen the kiss. Jaskier hums a soft note of happiness. Someday would come soon enough. For now, he would just have to show the Witcher exactly how special he was... as soon as they’d both had a bath. 


	2. Two Part Drabble Game 2: Special Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second in a series of drabbles from a Two Part Drabble Game on tumblr. In this one, Geralt's plans to bring Yennefer to a special place are thwarted. Instead, he brings the special place to her. This series is completed.

2 - Stuck indoors on a rainy day

24 - “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.” 

For @stressedspidergirl from the Two Part Drabble game!

Geralt curls loosely in the alcove formed by a luxurious window seat, staring glumly out the glass panes at the rain pouring down outside. He had been planning to go out riding with Yennefer today, to take her to a special place he had found out in the forest. Instead, they were stuck inside while the churning downpour turned the roads to impassable mud. There was no way he was taking Roach or Yennefer out in it.

Instead, he casts his eye over the estate below him. The rich gardens are full of flowers at this time of year, a visual feast from the window seat in normal weather. Right now though, the plants are bent in the downpour, appearing to huddle together against the ferocity of the rain. He grumbles, feeling thwarted.

Around him, the rest of the castle is still asleep. Even Yennefer is in bed across the room from him, soundly slumbering. She likely would be so until well after when he normally had breakfast, but even that was hours away. Years of hard living had made it difficult for him to stay asleep after daylight broke, and today had been no different.

As he eyed the flowers shivering in the rain, an idea began to form. Out in the forest some miles from here, he had discovered a cave while he was on a hunt. It had been a wild, tumbling place covered in rich early spring lilacs, tucked at the back of a ravine. At the very base of it, amidst the rich twisting of thick roots, the mouth of the cave sparkled in the early morning light. At first he had wondered if it was dew on the rocks, but as he got closer, he realized that the rocks were in fact covered in little crystals.   


Around the entrance of the place were chunks of raw rock striated with bands of gemstone, red and orange and white. They’d fallen away from the ceiling and walls some time ago, revealing the crystalline hollow to light and wind. Geralt ventured further in, cautious, keen ears pricking at the shift of every pebble. He held a sign at the ready, prepared to cast it at a moment’s notice should the roof begin to collapse.   


It held, however, and as he walked further back into the hollow, he saw that it was secure. As he turned around, his gaze sweeping the interior, he felt a prickle of wonder at what he found within. There were little gaps in the roof here and there where roots had poked through, allowing bright shafts of light to penetrate the dimness. The walls were a breathtaking array of multi-hued crystal, refracting the tender leafy light from above with rippling splendor. Whenever a breeze breathed into the cave, it filled with the heady scent of lilacs, of dirt and leaves and clean water. He had rarely seen anything more beautiful. It made him think of Yennefer.

Yennefer had been having a hard time of late. She was smart, yes, and self-possessed to a fault. Her world was hard, and cruel, and she was more than capable of holding her own within it. However, the Council had been embroiled in a series of terrible disputes as of late. For a group of people known for their backbiting, Geralt had been impressed by the spate of viciousness in the stories Yennefer had been bringing home lately.

The toll on Yennefer herself had been troubling. The Council had become a truly hostile place for her, and her fellow sorcerers had cracked her armor. They had found ways to diminish her, to take pieces away. She had become withdrawn and angry, keeping Geralt at a distance, suggesting he go find contracts and leave her in peace. And he’d done so, and returned. When he’d come back, she’d been more withdrawn than ever. The cycle had repeated, his worry increasing, until she had exploded in rage and cast him unceremoniously out onto the road again. Upset but unsurprised, Geralt had returned to the Path, putting her out of his mind until he’d found the crystal cave in the forest nearby some months later.   


He’d ridden back to Vengerberg, apprehensive but hopeful. And indeed, Yennefer had cooled down in the intervening months. She was more subdued than usual when he arrived at her gate, but she had welcomed him back into her home. After dinner, she had even welcomed him into her bed.   


It had been about a week since then, but the rain was refusing to let up. As he studied the flowers shivering together in the warm spring rain, the idea he’d been having solidified. He might not be able to bring Yennefer to the cave today... but perhaps he could bring it to her.

Some hours later, Yennefer awakens to a dripping wet Witcher toweling himself off nearby. His mind is curiously blank, and when she tries to brush deeper, she encounters a hard wall where there is usually an open gate. It isn’t like Geralt to make such an effort to lock her out, but it isn’t entirely unheard of; Sometimes the Witcher wants his privacy, and she is generally content to let him have it. She sits up in bed slowly, eyes running up and down Geralt’s scarred, well-muscled body. Then her gaze drops to the floor, and she can see a pile of utterly sodden clothing near the door.

“Geralt?” She asks with a yawn. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“Something special,” Geralt replies unhelpfully, padding over to the wardrobe and rummaging until he finds a soft pair of black pants. Then he eyes his options and chooses a black chemise and, to Yennefer’s surprise, a black and silver doublet that she had picked out for him some years ago. Usually he had to be bribed or threatened into it; it was a rare treat to see him donning it of his own free will.

“Why?” She asks sleepily, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. On a chair near the bed is a fur-lined silk robe in dark peacock green silk. With a graceful movement she rises and dons it. He shrugs, lacing up the doublet quickly. Then he turns to her and gives her a sweet, lopsided smile. Through the wall in his mind leaks a single image, of lilacs dewed with waterdrops, crystalline in early morning light. Cocking her head to the side, she approaches him, intrigued.

Gently as if he were handling a flower, he reaches out and draws her in for a long, slow kiss. As their tongues slide together, all she can see are flowers. Lilies, lilacs, roses, all covered in rolling droplets.

When they part a moment later, his yellow eyes are soft. She purses her lips at him, suspicious. When he sees her suspicion he merely smiles, taking her by the elbow and nudging her towards the door. “Come with me,” he insists. Eyeing him again, she allows herself some curiosity and nods. “Not far, I hope?” She says primly, sliding her feet into silk slippers and tying the robe around her waist.

“Not far,” he rumbles, pleased. Opening the door, he gestures her out into the hallway. He follows her out of the door and into the hallway, then leads her up several flights of stairs to a small observatory perched at the top of the manor. The door is closed, but she can smell a riot of floral odors drifting on the breeze blowing under it.

“Close your eyes,” he hums, smiling. She frowns at him, brushing across the wall inside his mind again, but all she can see is flowers. While she could break through it easily enough, she chooses not to, allowing him his surprises. It’s very rare that he plays games like this with her, and she is finding herself enjoying it. Closing her eyes, she reaches out for him and he takes her hand. With the other hand, he opens the door and carefully escorts her across the threshold. Inside the room she is bombarded by the smell of flowers and water, different from the usual wood, paper, and ink that she associates with the space. The light is rich through her eyelids, too rich for the weather.

“Open,” he says, and there’s a note of pride in his voice. She does, and lets out a little gasp. The room is covered in geometric arrangements of flower and crystal, undulating bands of color and shape that line the walls of the observatory.

The flowers are in vases, and the vases have been set in big glass bowls full of shining marbles in different hues, catching the drips. Near the irises and lilacs are big chunks of amethyst, fluorite, and tanzanite, grading into bands of malachite and jade surrounding bowls of freshly cut ferns and birds of paradise, shocking sprays of orange, pink, and blue amidst the green stones.

As she turns around the observatory, the damp rainy light catches and refracts amongst the stones and glass that form a rainbow around the room. The cascading water pouring off of the roof makes everything ripple and dance. As she comes to a rest her eyes feast on jasper, ruby, and carnelian surrounding roses, fragrant and damp in the lovely light. She recognizes most of the precious stones from around her manor, but has never had them all arranged together in one place like this.

“Geralt...” She breathes, squeezing his hand.

He steps close, kissing the side of her head and drawing her against his side. “There’s more,” he murmurs fondly against her ear. Gesturing, he draws her attention to the big desk at the center of the room. Instead of the usual stacks of books, papers, and globe, there is a tablecloth. On it sits a tray with a tall, cold tankard full of apple juice, beads of moisture winking on its sides. There is a plate stacked high with honey cakes and sweetmeats in the middle.

A wide smile crosses her face, and she brings his arms up, wrapping herself in them. Leaning back against him, she luxuriates in the solid warmth of his strong body behind her. He squeezes her close, sighing with contentment, fully releasing the wall he’d held between them. Their thoughts twine together like rising steam in the late morning light.

<< _Why?_ >> She asks, fingers gently caressing across the backs of his hands.

A swirl of images surrounds her, flickering phantom moments of suitors and sorcerers, kings and queens and merchant princes. Cruel flashes of the Council. Hungry eyes, empty hearts. Always trying to take away pieces of her, diminish her, make her a known, controllable quantity. Yennefer has become self-possessed out of sheer force of personality, but the gnawing abrasiveness of her world still takes pieces away, sometimes. Makes her feel smaller. She didn’t realize how often Geralt saw it, until now.

<< _You are surrounded by this... people don’t see you. They see power, and they want to be a part of it... or control it. They take pieces. Make you feel small._ >> They smile together, and he squeezes her closer. << _I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough. You are exquisite._ >> And then, he leans down and brushes his lips softly along her neck. They both sigh as she shifts back against him, her body relaxing into his. Bringing his lips to her ear again, he whispers, “I love you.”

  


~*~

Epilogue:  


Her eyes widen with surprise and she turns, a smile stealing across her face. “You said it aloud,” she notices, violet eyes sparkling.   


Geralt smiles, flashing his sharp canines. “Special occasion,” he quips, but as she takes a breath to complain he leans down and captures her in a heartfelt kiss. Laughing warmly, she twines her arms around his neck and pulls him close. Their tongues slide together as their eyes drift closed, and Geralt wraps his arms gently around her waist. A soft sigh drifts between them as their bodies melt into one another, lost in the patter of the rain falling from the roof.   


As they part, eyes sparkling, Yennefer licks her lower lip and gives Geralt a playful, calculating look. Then she says, “Breakfast?”

He smiles back at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whatever you want.”

“Hmmm… Promise?” She purrs, pushing him gently towards the desk. With a soft chuckle he goes where she wants him to, letting her guide him into the big, comfortable seat. As he settles, she slides into his lap, curling herself so that she can reach the food and drink. He wraps his arms around her waist with a big smile and lets his fingers linger along her thighs, watching as she reaches out and pulls the tankard and plate close. Her robe slips and he glimpses her breasts. His eyes widen and she laughs, shifting to allow the robe to fall just that little bit more open.   


“Are you ever going to get tired of them?” She smiles fondly, cutting him a glance as she breaks apart a honey cake.   


“Hmm… Don’t think so,” he rumbles, peering over her shoulder contentedly. With a grin, she pushes his head up with the tip of one finger and offers him a bite of honey cake. His eyebrows go up as he sees it, and he delicately removes it from her fingers with his teeth. Then he carefully tongues the sticky honey and crumbs away, locking eyes with hers. A flush colors her cheeks as she lets her fingers linger on his lips. Then, eyes still locked with his, she takes a bite out of the little cake. A soft sigh escapes him, and his eyes drop to travel over her, lingering fondly on her lips, her skin, her bared breasts. She can feel the stirring of his cock against her thigh and a comfortable curl of warmth goes through her.

They pass a delightful morning together curled in the chair. Humming and murmuring to one another in the hushed tones of lovers, they feed one another cakes until the plate is empty. Teeth gently nibble crumbs off of fingers, lips and tongues gently suckle honey away until fingertips are tender and pink. And when the cakes and the apple juice are gone, they turn to one another, bellies full and hearts content.   


Yennefer catches Geralt’s sweet lips in a long, slow kiss, teasing him with gentle flickers of her tongue. He murmurs happily up against her, fingers tangling in the soft silk of her robe. Slipping back, she delicately stands. As their lips part he opens his eyes with a slow blink, following her to her feet.   


“Bed?” He suggests, teasing his fingers lightly along the collar of her silk robe.   


“Mmhm…” she replies, a mischievous smile playing about her lips. With a quick gesture of her hand, the desk vanishes. A sudden rush of air whooshes around them, filling the space where the desk once stood, and in its place there is their mattress and a generous pile of pillows. She smiles as Geralt’s eyebrows go up.   


“I like it in here,” she says. “Let’s make an afternoon of it.” And with that, she pulls him playfully onto the bed. Without protest he follows her, tumbling into the pile of pillows with a deep laugh. From the vantage point of the bed, the room is full of jewel colored light, surrounding and bathing them in bright hues. As Yennefer slips her robe off of her shoulders, his eyes play over her lithe, strong body. Above them, the storm roars with renewed fury, battering the glass panes with torrents of water. He rolls over onto his back, pulling her to him, and she flows over him like a river.   


Afterwards, they melt into one another, surrounded by the sweet scents of flowers and satiation. She kisses sweat from his face, and he tongues it delicately off of her neck, savoring the richness of her scent. Their cheeks rub together, hands exploring, smoothing away worries and settling into contented bliss. A deep rumble of contentment vibrates her body as he purrs, twining his arms around her and cradling her close. She snuggles into his chest, fingering the softness of the doublet, and lets her eyes slip closed.   


“I love you, too.”


	3. Two Part Drabble Game 3: Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the third and (unless anyone sends me any more prompts) final installment of the Drabble Game stories. Jaskier is getting old and gets some nice oil to ease his aches. He had no way of predicting the effect it would have on Geralt...  
> This series is completed.

22 - Jealous

28 - “If I kissed you right now, what would you do?”

  
  


It all started one spring when Julian Alfred Pankratz, professor of Oxenfurt University, rejoined Geralt on the Path. Geralt had been waiting on a high hill over the city in a meeting place they had chosen long ago. 

Inside the gates, Julian had packed away his life at Oxenfurt and donned his travel clothing. Striding out of the gate dressed in his high boots and sturdy doublet (well, more sturdy than the ones he wore in the city,) he spotted Geralt atop Roach in the distance at their usual meeting place. And just like that, Julian Pankratz was left behind and he was again Jaskier, bard extraordinaire and loyal companion of one grumpy Witcher. The wind blew from behind him, carrying his scent up to Geralt, who was looking at him with a more wooden expression than usual.

Over the years Geralt had noticed many different smells on him, from lavender to oak moss, but none of them had particularly pleased him. Some of them burned his sensitive nose.  _ None _ of them had been like this scent rolling up the hill now… It made him smell like a dessert. As Geralt finally spotted him walking up the path out of the city, he hadn’t been sure if he was more intrigued or upset by this delicious smelling change. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier called up the path, hitching his lute case and bag over his shoulder and breaking into a jog.

Roach stirred as she heard Jaskier approaching, her ears flickering eagerly. Geralt rumbled a soothing noise to her, then lifted his nose to the wind. The scent rolling up the hill in the spring air was unmistakably Jaskier, but…

As the bard approached Geralt dismounted, narrowing his eyes. He grabbed Jaskier’s wrist and stuck his nose into his sleeve, then pulled at his doublet and sniffed near the neck of it, frowning. Jaskier laughed, batting him away with gentle hands.

“Hello, Geralt! Nice to see you too!”

“You smell like an apple cake,” Geralt accused, stepping back and fixing Jaskier with a glare.

“I what? Oh! Of course!” Giving a little flourish, Jaskier gestured to his bag. “A most helpful apothecary made me some cinnamon oil for my journey this year. Delightful, isn’t it?” He fixed Geralt with a winning smile. Geralt’s frown deepened.

“Why?”

“Well, dear Witcher, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m forty-six years old!” Jaskier replied, patting him on the elbow before walking past him to greet Roach with an apple he’d saved specially for her. “I daresay it should help keep the aches and pains at bay on rainy days, my friend. That’s why.” Cooing, he stroked Roach gently and fed her the apple. Geralt tolerated this with ill grace, but waited until Roach was done before stepping between her and the bard like an overprotective hen.

He realized his mistake as soon as he’d made it. Up close, the natural scent of Jaskier intertwined with the cinnamon odor. The combination was delicious. It was maddening. Closing his eyes, he was just in time to hide his pupils blowing out and potentially giving him away.“Get away from Roach,” he barked, but with no real heat behind it. Jaskier smiled and patted his shoulder before stepping away.

“Where to, old friend?” He asked, making a wide gesture at the world around them, eager to embrace the many adventures in store.

Geralt mounted Roach quickly to get away from that maddening, mouthwatering odor and grunted. Scanning the undulating green landscape, he saw no danger around them. Up here the wind was clearer, and he relaxed slightly.

“South,” he said shortly. Spurring his horse, he headed that way up the road.

“South it is!” Jaskier exclaimed, turning to follow him.

After that, cinnamon followed Geralt everywhere. It was on the innkeeper’s daughter as they left a town. The stableboy in another village. Even, at one memorable occasion, their hostess. Geralt had returned from a particularly challenging monster hunt to find her reeking of it, and the bard was nowhere to be found. For reasons he couldn’t entirely understand, he was so upset that he barely remembered to collect his bounty before storming out to track down the bard.

Nights at inns, never easy on Geralt’s nerves with the rambunctious bard, became torture. Jaskier would sing, and charm, and linger under the hands of flirtatious patrons as he entertained. Every time someone would walk past Geralt with that little whiff of cinnamon on their fingers, or worse, their trousers, he found himself grinding his teeth.

Soon, he found himself unconsciously sitting closer and closer to the bard every night as he sang. In his opinion, people were becoming too handsy with his bard. Too many people coming away with Jaskier’s scent on them, being marked by  _ his _ bard. He glowered at people from behind Jaskier, giving them long flat looks of warning until they would slowly back away. Somehow, Jaskier had gone from being  _ the  _ bard to  _ his _ bard, but he hadn’t noticed the switch.

And one night, he reached a breaking point. Some comely lad slid up to the counter next to his bard one evening, casually leaning in to press against his side and offer him a compliment and a drink. Without meaning to, Geralt found himself snapping, “Don’t touch him!”

The near area of the inn went quiet as people looked at the little scene, startled young man, startled bard, and angry Witcher all eyeing each other uneasily. The young man looked between the two of them, blanched as Geralt fixed him with a steady glare, and backed off with a quick apology. Jaskier turned and eyed Geralt, a thoughtful twinkle in his eye.

“Geralt… what are you doing?” Jaskier asked, turning slowly to face him. Geralt’s face, if possible, went flatter than ever.

“Nothing.” He grunted, then hid his face in his tankard, taking a long swallow of his beer.

“Ah-ah-ah, I don’t think so,” Jaskier said, putting his finger on the edge of the mug and gently pushing it aside. “Come with me, Geralt. We need to talk.”

Geralt fixed him with a hot glower, but Jaskier was unimpressed. Geralt locked eyes with him. Jaskier raised an eyebrow and stared back, a little smile crinkling the corners of his bright eyes. Though he tried to hold out, Geralt’s will eventually crumbled under that kind, humorous gaze and he looked away.

“Fine…” He grumbled, but downed the rest of his beer before he stood. They’d had a successful contract in the last town and plenty of coin, so he had been downing the local ale at a prodigious rate. He felt a little warm under the collar as he followed Jaskier into the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the patrons. The summer evening was hot, and in the enclosed space of the hall he found himself swimming in the intoxicating smell of Jaskier’s sweat and cinnamon body oil.

Jaskier backed him gently into a corner, eyes glittering wickedly. “Something’s different, Geralt. What is it?”

Geralt growled back at him, unwilling to engage the subject. Jaskier poked him gently in the chest. “Speak up, or I’ll never let this drop. Do you want me to wake you up in the middle of the night to talk about this? Or! I could compose a ballad!” He grinned wickedly as Geralt’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, seeing Geralt’s resolve cracking. Clearing his throat, he made as if to begin singing. Geralt grabbed him by the wrists, giving him a very gentle shake.

“Stop.” Geralt replied in a low, rough voice.

“Or what?” Jaskier replied. He looked up and down Geralt’s body, lingering on his face. Then, he stepped just a little bit closer. “You’ve been scaring people off for weeks now.” Another step, their chests just barely brushing. “You’ve never done that before.” His tongue darted across his lips, and he noticed Geralt’s pupils flick into cat slits as they tracked the movement. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Geralt… are you jealous?” He cocked his head to the side and eyed the Witcher, who stared back at him, breath coming shallower and quicker than usual. For the first time ever, Jaskier was certain he was able to see hunger on the Witcher’s face, difficult to read though it was. Jaskier’s smile turned wicked. He leaned just a little bit closer, working his hands free from the Witcher’s suddenly limp fingers.

“If I kissed you right now, what would you do?” Looking out at Geralt from under his eyelashes, Jaskier bit his lip playfully. He was rewarded with a bubbling growl, and he noticed Geralt’s nostrils flaring. Pleasure thrummed through Jaskier as he took this in, thrilling at the sudden pull between them. Eyes twinkling merrily, Jaskier reached up and very, very slowly rubbed his cinnamon scented wrist all over the front of Geralt’s shirt. The bubbling growl deepened in tone, and the hairs all over Jaskier’s body stood happily on end.

“Hmmmm…” Jaskier purred, then softly turned away, brushing his hip against Geralt’s side. “Too bad I’ll never find out,” he teased, walking away. “It’s getting late, Geralt. I’ll be up in the room if you need me.”

Geralt stared after him mutely, feeling hot and prickly all over. As the bard vanished around the corner and up the stairs, he found himself stalking after him, following the scent of cinnamon through the inn and in through the door of their room.

He slammed the door behind him and pounced. Through the solid oak could be heard a startled cry from the bard, laughter… and then a breathless groan of startled pleasure as the bed creaked beneath the weight of two bodies.


End file.
